Post by Lieutenant Victor Springfield on Jun 12, 2016 16:35:20 GMT -5
Date: April 3, 2417
Location: Queens, New York
Victor hustled up the steps to his apartment in Queens. It was a crisp and clear spring night, just on the cusp of day and evening. By all accounts, it should have been a night that he enjoyed, but he knew what was waiting for him upstairs. In his hand, he clutched a medium-sized object wrapped in gift paper.
He reached the door of the apartment, took a deep breath, and walked in. The living room was empty.
"Oh," a voice wafted in from the kitchen, "It's you." She did not sound happy.
He shook his head and walked toward the kitchen, where she was half-way into a turkey sandwich.
"Robin, I brought you something." He tried to pretend like nothing was wrong. Under the piercing gaze of his wife, he placed the wrapped object on the counter. She made no move to open it, and instead, flicked her blonde hair out of her face and behind her head. He knew that she only did that when she meant business. "It's a Tellerite lamp. Very unique. This was hand-made, so you can't even replicate it." His description of the object did nothing to pique her interest, and in fact, only pissed her off further. He knew this wasn't going to end well.
"Oh, wow. A lamp." She deadpanned between bites of sandwich. "That sure makes up for my husband DISAPPEARING FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS AT A TIME!"
She spat bits of turkey sandwich all over him as she yelled. He picked a piece of salad off his uniform as she continued, his face growing more pale.
"You think this is a MARRIAGE?" Her blue eyes went wide and looked at him, just daring him to answer.
"We discussed this, Robin." He tried to take a conciliatory tone. "You know that my job..."
She brutally cut him off. "Don't give me that! Other Starfleet officers get to bring their wives! Why not you?" She smacked her palm down on the marble kitchen top. He was accustomed to their fights, but this was something else entirely. He instinctively backed up a few feet, feeling entirely off his guard. This was not a feeling he was used to. Why was it that he could stare down a Klingon general but she legitimately gave him a sense of dread?
"No, no. Being a diplomat... you see, it involved so much... classified material and... Starfleet would need to vet you... and..." He stumbled over his words as he saw that they had no effect. "And I'm moving around from ship to ship..." None of this seemed to work. He sighed and pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes, slapping the pack against his hand and withdrawing the stick. He lit the end and inhaled deeply. "It's just not the kind of envir--"
She cut him off again. "And those damned disgusting cigarettes! Come on, Victor!" She slapped her palm on the counter again. "When was the last time someone smoked a damn cigarette? Three hundred years ago? What kind of Starfleet officer are you?"
His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't even breathe, and he felt the burn increasing as the smoke hung steady in his lungs.
"I'm leaving you Victor." She said matter-of-factly, without the rage she had earlier. "I want a divorce." Now she was all business. This is how he knew it was over -- when she was mad, at least she cared. But she's beyond that now.
He stood there, motionless, smoke drifting out of his mouth. He furrowed his brow and tried to process what was going on.
"I guess the great negotiator is at a lack of words... for once." She shook her head and scoffed as she headed for the door. "I'm going to live with my parents in Albany. I've already sent my stuff. Goodbye, Victor." With that, she flung open the door and walked off into the night, leaving Vic completely stunned.
He walked over to the door and closed it just as if it had been any normal day. He looked around the room... a picture from his wedding day caught his eye. He flipped it face-down, unable to look at it directly. After pouring himself a glass of scotch, he flopped down on the couch, still in a shocked state.
As he sipped from his drink, he looked out to the stars, where he belonged.
Location: Queens, New York
Victor hustled up the steps to his apartment in Queens. It was a crisp and clear spring night, just on the cusp of day and evening. By all accounts, it should have been a night that he enjoyed, but he knew what was waiting for him upstairs. In his hand, he clutched a medium-sized object wrapped in gift paper.
He reached the door of the apartment, took a deep breath, and walked in. The living room was empty.
"Oh," a voice wafted in from the kitchen, "It's you." She did not sound happy.
He shook his head and walked toward the kitchen, where she was half-way into a turkey sandwich.
"Robin, I brought you something." He tried to pretend like nothing was wrong. Under the piercing gaze of his wife, he placed the wrapped object on the counter. She made no move to open it, and instead, flicked her blonde hair out of her face and behind her head. He knew that she only did that when she meant business. "It's a Tellerite lamp. Very unique. This was hand-made, so you can't even replicate it." His description of the object did nothing to pique her interest, and in fact, only pissed her off further. He knew this wasn't going to end well.
"Oh, wow. A lamp." She deadpanned between bites of sandwich. "That sure makes up for my husband DISAPPEARING FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS AT A TIME!"
She spat bits of turkey sandwich all over him as she yelled. He picked a piece of salad off his uniform as she continued, his face growing more pale.
"You think this is a MARRIAGE?" Her blue eyes went wide and looked at him, just daring him to answer.
"We discussed this, Robin." He tried to take a conciliatory tone. "You know that my job..."
She brutally cut him off. "Don't give me that! Other Starfleet officers get to bring their wives! Why not you?" She smacked her palm down on the marble kitchen top. He was accustomed to their fights, but this was something else entirely. He instinctively backed up a few feet, feeling entirely off his guard. This was not a feeling he was used to. Why was it that he could stare down a Klingon general but she legitimately gave him a sense of dread?
"No, no. Being a diplomat... you see, it involved so much... classified material and... Starfleet would need to vet you... and..." He stumbled over his words as he saw that they had no effect. "And I'm moving around from ship to ship..." None of this seemed to work. He sighed and pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes, slapping the pack against his hand and withdrawing the stick. He lit the end and inhaled deeply. "It's just not the kind of envir--"
She cut him off again. "And those damned disgusting cigarettes! Come on, Victor!" She slapped her palm on the counter again. "When was the last time someone smoked a damn cigarette? Three hundred years ago? What kind of Starfleet officer are you?"
His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't even breathe, and he felt the burn increasing as the smoke hung steady in his lungs.
"I'm leaving you Victor." She said matter-of-factly, without the rage she had earlier. "I want a divorce." Now she was all business. This is how he knew it was over -- when she was mad, at least she cared. But she's beyond that now.
He stood there, motionless, smoke drifting out of his mouth. He furrowed his brow and tried to process what was going on.
"I guess the great negotiator is at a lack of words... for once." She shook her head and scoffed as she headed for the door. "I'm going to live with my parents in Albany. I've already sent my stuff. Goodbye, Victor." With that, she flung open the door and walked off into the night, leaving Vic completely stunned.
He walked over to the door and closed it just as if it had been any normal day. He looked around the room... a picture from his wedding day caught his eye. He flipped it face-down, unable to look at it directly. After pouring himself a glass of scotch, he flopped down on the couch, still in a shocked state.
As he sipped from his drink, he looked out to the stars, where he belonged.